


Reading the Papers

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6726271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr Watson reflects following both Holmes and Mary's deaths</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reading the Papers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's Fan Flashworks Amnesty Challenge "Solitary" prompt

It seems strange when so regular an action as that of reading the morning paper whilst eating one’s breakfast should be a cause of sorrow.  It is true, of course, there are times when the main news is of a tragedy and one cannot read without some feeling; but in general one is not personally touched by the news.

And yet for me, each day that simple action reminds me so clearly of my sorrow.  For it recalls times past, when I would do the same, but in such different circumstances.

For when I was living in Baker Street, Holmes would ask me to read out an article to him, and more often would interrupt my intense study to read to me an obscure advertisement from the classified section.  His absorption in such matters was as great as mine with the racing form, although I must admit, in the end it tended to be more profitable.

And even now, when I have nothing more to do than read the classified advertisements, I will spot something and think “I must mention this to Holmes”, and then I remember I can never again do this, for his interest in the apparently trivial went with him over the Reichenbach Falls.  And to think something as trivial as a note from the hotelier should take me away from defending my dearest friend.

It is not so long ago I would have been sitting at this very table, and reading the paper over breakfast in the company of my dear Mary.  Her interest in the content was not as specific as Holmes’, but she would always encourage me to read to her any article which mentioned Inspector Lestrade.  And she, in her turn, would pick out articles from places she was acquainted with, and add descriptions of these places, so the article came to life.

And then, as her illness made her weaker, she would encourage me to read to her when our conversation had dried up.  Initially I had read books, but as she found remembering the plot more onerous, I would scour the newspapers for amusing articles to read to her.  By the end I could have read an entire editorial in reverse and she would not have been any the wiser, but my voice helped her to rest, and I would have read all night if that had enabled her to sleep easy.

Now I have no-one to read to.  A couple of times I have tried reading out loud, once the maid had retired for the night.  It is not the same, and only serves to emphasise my loneliness.  I had never before realised how quiet a house is when there is no-one to talk to.  
  


 


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